


Chicago

by lotrspnfangirl



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Alternate Universe - Rock Band, Angst and Fluff and Smut, Angst with a Happy Ending, Denial of Feelings, Drug Use, Feelings Realization, Guitarist Ash, Guitarist Dean Winchester, Happy Ending, M/M, Mutual Pining, Separations, Singer Dean Winchester, Sobriety, Unhealthy Coping Mechanisms, bassist Jo Harvelle, drummer benny lafitte, singer jo harvelle
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-01-15
Updated: 2019-02-12
Packaged: 2019-10-10 18:35:46
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 17,591
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17431325
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lotrspnfangirl/pseuds/lotrspnfangirl
Summary: Dean Winchester wanted one thing in life: to make it big. From a young age, he’d been playing guitar and writing music, absorbing friends with similar talents along the way. With a few hundred bucks saved in a coffee tin, his guitar and Impala, he set out to the biggest city he could afford with his friends at his side. Fame and fortune was what he wanted. Then, he met Castiel at a shady, downtown bar in Chicago.Castiel, desperate for a change, accepts Dean’s offer to join them in their adventure, soon finding it easy to fall in love with Dean Winchester's charm. But, as the months pass and their dreams shape into reality, he can’t help but wonder if he’s just part of the package - a pretty face to go along with the rest. He needs commitment, a promise, something that Dean just isn’t able to give. Although it breaks his heart, Castiel refuses to be a groupie, and decides to leave before he’s the one left.Throughout their experiences, they start to realize that perhaps there’s more to life than having a good time and playing music. Maybe fame and fortune isn’t all it’s cracked up to be without someone to share it with. But emotions are harder than a melody, and sometimes, life isn’t a song.





	1. Baby, I met you in downtown Chicago…

**Author's Note:**

> This was originally going to be for the 2019 Pinefest, but I missed one of the check ins. So, be prepared for pining! The story idea originated from [Chicago by Highly Suspect](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=0cpNfLAouSQ) (I adore this band). This fic will be updated on Tuesdays, though times may vary depending on my work schedule!
> 
> Potential for tags to change, but nothing major. I will add content warnings if needed at the start of the chapter. 
> 
> Dean's band, Devium, means Wayward in Latin. 
> 
> Shout out to Mari, Linda, Michelle, Autumn for being my cheerleaders so far, and in advance, when I need someone's hand to hold. You guys are awesome ♥

The bass was loud, guitar riffs resonating throughout the bar, and Dean Winchester didn’t hear a single lyric that was being sung. He was too focused on the man at the opposite end of the bar, his eyes closed, head bobbing along to the music.

He knew that feeling, knew how it felt to be completely and utterly transformed by the soul of a song. Music could hurt as much as it could heal, it could transform. And the man at the end of the bar was feeling something powerful.

Despite the dim lighting of the bar, the moment the man opened his eyes and locked his gaze with Dean, he was lost, drowning in deep blue. This time, it was Dean feeling something powerful. Slowly, he reached down for his beer, eyes never leaving the man’s as he drained the rest of the bottle and placed it back on the bar top. Then, he moved.

The man shifted slightly, turning his body to the empty chair beside him, and nodding once as Dean slid onto the stool.

“Want another?” he asked, eyes already searching out the bartender.

“Just one,” Dean answered, watching the small smile play against the man’s lips. “You live around here?”

The man accepted two beers from the bartender and slid one over, meeting Dean’s eyes for only a moment before letting out a deep, surprised laugh. God, he could get used to that sound.

“That was subtle.” The man smiled, lifting his bottle. Dean watched as his lips came around the glass top and licked his own as if he could taste them, too. “My hotel is a few blocks down. I’m just visiting.”

Dean smiled back and lifted his own bottle, taking a healthy sip from it. He let his legs fall open wider, his knee pressing against the man’s thigh. The man doesn’t pull away and it sends butterflies shooting through Dean’s stomach. There’s just something about him, something Dean craves to know…

“Name’s Dean,” he offered, turning his body to face the man’s completely, the man’s leg slipping between the V of Dean’s.

“Castiel,” the man replied, his cheeks flushing.

“Interesting name,” Dean said, trying it out for himself. He smirked when he saw the flush of Castiel’s cheeks deepen. There was something static between them, a charge in the air, and Dean found himself leaning forward, his lips just barely brushing the shell of Castiel’s ear. “Wanna get out of here, Cas?”

Castiel’s breath hitched, then blew out hot against Dean’s neck. Dean heard the click of his throat as he swallowed, then felt him nod. They stood together, Dean slapping down two twenties on the counter before they left the bar together, side by side.

There was a chill in the air, a crisp bite to September that let them know summer was officially over. Dean took advantage and laid his arm over Castiel’s shoulders, smiling as the man leaned in against him. Together, they walked through the streets of Chicago, Dean leading him two blocks away to the small one bedroom apartment he shared with Benny. Dean took a moment to shoot his roommate a text, letting him know he was having someone over, so that Benny would make himself scarce for the night.

“Welcome,” Dean said as they arrived at the brick building advertising _Tony’s Chicago Style Pizza_ , moving to the side of the storefront where a door was pushed back into a hidden alcove. He unlocked the metal frame, then the wooden door behind it, and let Castiel walk ahead of him up the narrow staircase.

“It’s not much,” Dean began as he unlocked the apartment door, then stepped inside after Castiel. “But its home.”

Castiel looked around the small living room, Dean noticing that it was definitely ‘well lived in’, but grateful there weren’t any takeout containers left out on the small table. He was about to ask his guest if he wanted something to drink, when his shoulders were backed into the door they’d just come from and Castiel was stepping into his space.

Dean’s gasped, expecting the kiss he’d been ready to lay on the other man himself. But, his eyes flickered to Castiel’s.

Something was wrong.

“You did this to me,” Castiel whispered, his eyes shining with tears. “It’s broken, it’s all broken.”

“I didn’t mean to,” Dean whispered, watching the tears spill from Castiel’s beautiful eyes, his throat suddenly thick and his own eyes burning. This wasn’t how it happened, this wasn’t right. “I meant to say it, Cas, I really did.”

“But you didn’t,” Castiel hissed, his hands tight in Dean’s shirt as he pulled Dean forward and then slammed him back, the door rattling threateningly in its hinges. “You didn’t tell me and now it’s broken. We’re broken. _You’re broken_.”

 

 

Dean gasped, his entire body jerking as he woke, his heart pounding in his chest. He could still feel the phantom trace of Castiel’s hands on his chest and he both ached for the touch and felt guilty over still craving it. The nightmares had gotten worse, as of late, something he blamed his new sobriety for.

He closed his eyes again, rubbing a hand over his face and trying to shake off the sound of Castiel’s voice. If Sam hadn’t made him swear on Sam’s own life… he would be reaching for the bottle right now, Hell, something even stronger.

Sober or not, his head was pounding, and that was something only coffee could fix.

Dean ripped the covers back, shivering as his sweat slicked skin hit the cool air, and reached down for a pair of sweatpants and a hoodie. He pulled them on quickly, rubbing his arms as he pushed to his feet. The alarm clock on the dresser flashed 06:42 and he clicked off the 8 o’clock alarm before leaving his bedroom.

The apartment was silent, not surprising for the hour. Crowley had them at the studio until nearly three in the morning the night before. He slipped down the hallway, looking into the first room to see Jo’s bed was empty. So, Benny and Jo were back to being a thing again. He sighed, trying not to let it irritate him before his coffee.

He supposed that them being ‘on’ again was better for the band as a whole. When they’d broken up a few months back, the rift it had caused between the band was something else. Ash and Jo only showed up to required events, and only after threats from Crowley to get their ass in gear. Benny and Dean spent most of their time in a drug fueled haze, substituted with heavy amounts of alcohol through their recording sessions.

Honestly, the fact that Fergus Crowley still had them signed and employed was a Godsend.

Crowley had called Sam, though, threatening to drop them if Dean’s younger brother didn’t figure out a way to kick them into gear. His brother had flown to LA and in two weeks, Dean was checked into a rehab program with Benny at his side, and Jo visiting them on the weekends with tears staining her cheeks as she blamed herself for not seeing how they were struggling.

To be fair, Dean was still struggling. He’d been struggling since Castiel walked out of his life almost two years ago… but that was an entirely different situation.

The scent of coffee was heavy in the air as he walked into the kitchen, and he touched the edge of the pot, the heat seeping through the glass and warming his hand. Good enough. He poured himself an oversized mug, taking a large gulp and burning his throat, before dumping what was left in the pot and starting a fresh one. He leaned against the counter and drank the coffee slowly, wondering who the hell was up at this hour with him.

He didn’t have to wait long. The shuffling of stocking feet coming towards him from around the island brought Ash stumbling into view.

“Dude,” was all he greeted, clanking his empty mug down by the machine. Dean nodded, and they stood in silence as the coffee finished percolating.

They had a contract meeting today at noon, and if Crowley knew both he and Ash were up already, he would flip his shit. He supposed he should be more excited: they were planning on going on tour, playing at a few Rock Festivals and Warped Tour on the East Coast. They were even slotted to open for Shinedown for two of their shows in the Midwest. Benny, Ash, and Jo were ecstatic, at least, but Dean…

He just wished he could share it with Castiel.

His stomach twisted as he thought of what Cas might say. He would’ve been excited, his eyes shining, and he probably would’ve demanded they go out to dinner to celebrate or something. He would’ve kissed Dean silly, kept shaking his arm throughout the night as if he couldn’t truly believe they’d _made_ it. He’d tell Dean in the darkness of their room, whispered between caresses of his fingers and mouth, that Dean was worth it, that this was the start of something big…

Instead, Jo toasted them all with sparkling apple cider, the four of them agreeing on the meeting with Crowley the following week, and retired to their own spaces to celebrate on their own.

Dean hadn’t even told Sam until this past weekend, his brother angry and offended Dean hadn’t called him immediately to tell him the good news. Dean just… didn’t feel that way about it, not really. It was what it was, and nothing more.

Ash nodded at him, refilling both of their mugs with fresh coffee before stumbling back to where ever he’d come from, leaving Dean standing on the cold tile with his too-hot cup of joe.

Slowly, he raised a hand a ran it back through is hair, wiping it on his sweatpants after. Not too greasy. Dean clicked his tongue and put the mug down a little too hard, coffee sloshing out onto the counter. He contemplated the spill for a moment before turning and heading back to his room. If he tried, he could probably get a few more hours, roll out of bed in time to throw on jeans and get to the meeting on time.

As he crawled back beneath the blankets, still warm with sleep, he hoped his sleep was dreamless.

If only he were that lucky.

 

***

 

“Come on, brother,” Benny clapped Dean on the shoulder, rocking him back on his feet, “Jo’s gonna pick up a whole lasagna, courtesy of Marie Callender.”

“It’s a downright celebration,” Dean replied, giving Benny the best smile he could muster, then accepting the envelope Crowley was handing across the table to him. They bid their manager farewell, then piled into the limousine he’d insisted on carting them back and forth with.

Dean was pressed into the far side, glad for the door so he could press his forehead against the cool glass and feint a headache. His friends were chatting away around him, excited over their new deal. Not only would they be getting more studio time, approved for a new full length album, but their tour would start in January, giving them four months to get things in order. He had a notebook of songs shoved beneath the mattress, and knew it wouldn’t be too hard to pull them out and polish them up enough to work on a composition with Jo. But, still...

He just wasn’t excited. He felt nothing, if he were to be honest with himself. But honesty was not the best policy, not for the Winchesters.

Dean gave himself the rest of the ride to feel numb, his focus on how far the cool of the glass could spread across his skin, before they pulled up to the apartment building and Ash was rocketing out of the car as if it were on fire. Jo pulled herself after, laughing at something Ash had said that Dean completely missed, and Benny was slapping him on the chest.

“You good?” he asked, and Dean pulled away, smiling at Benny.

“Course, Ben,” Dean clapped him back, giving him a shove out of the back seat and crawling across the bench after him, “this is the time of our freaking lives!”

 

___________________________________________________

 

 

Castiel closed his eyes, pressing the eraser of his pencil between his eyes, and biting back a sigh.

Of course Gabriel would appreciate _Devium_ , and would be all for giving up the stupid techno-pop he usually blasted for the one rock album that made every inch of Castiel’s skin crawl. The bass was loud enough that Castiel was sure it was ripping through the walls, and if he looked up he would see the ceiling start to crack. The drums reverberated in his skull, the guitar was pulling at every one of his own heartstrings.

And then _he_ started singing.

Castiel got through the first verse before his pencil snapped, a splinter sticking into his finger.

“Gabriel!” he screamed, fist slamming down on his desk. “I swear to God if you don’t turn that shit off--”

The music stopped almost immediately after his name was called, but it was the sound of his own door slamming open that made Castiel snap his mouth shut. Gabriel stood in his boxers, a smirk at the ready, as he leaned against the door jam.

“Well, well, Cassie. What on earth has got your panties in a twist?”

“I am trying to study and it’s impossible to do with you blasting that… that… awful music!” Castiel hissed back, removing his glasses to rub at his temples.

“That awful music that I took from your room?” Gabriel asked, and Castiel’s head shot up as he spun in the computer chair to look at the bookcase. Sure enough, there was an empty spot on the top shelf in the center of his CDs.

“Give it back,” Castiel whispered, his hands shaking as he clenched them into fists and pushed them into his lap. His heart was suddenly pounding, a fine sheen of sweat breaking out over his skin. If Gabriel had taken that album in particular…

“Alright, bro, I wasn’t planning on keeping it. The soulful crooning of, ah… _Dean Winchester_ , isn’t exactly my cup of tea.”

Castiel shut his eyes and held his breath.

“One thing though…”

Of course. Castiel blew out the breath slowly, composing his features as he turned around to face his brother. Gabriel had come into the room and knelt down, inches from Castiel’s chair.

“What is the lead singer of _Devium_ apologizing to you for, little Cassie? And he wouldn’t happen to be the Dean you spent last year slumming it up in the city with, right?” Gabriel pressed his hands onto the armrests, keeping Castiel in place.

For his part, Castiel was proud of the lack of expression he showed. He raised an eyebrow and met his brother’s gaze dead on. “I’m not sure what it is you’re looking for, Gabriel. Can I please have the CD back?”

“I’m looking for an answer, Cas. I’m looking to see if this-” Gabriel emphasized the word by leaning back on his heels and withdrawing the CD case in question from the pocket of his sweatshirt, giving his a shake. The plastic cracked in his grasp, making Castiel flinch. “-is why you’ve been… like _this_ for the past goddamn year!”

“Like what, exactly?” Castiel asked, glaring back at his older brother. “Focused? Studying for my exams? Going to class and making every Sunday night family dinner? I fail to see the problem with what ‘this’ is! I’m not doing anything, Gabriel.”

“Exactly,” Gabriel whispered, shaking his head. He stared back at Castiel for a moment, his expression falling as he sighed. “Exactly. You’re not doing anything. You’re going through every goddamn motion that’s thrown at you, you’re living up to Dad’s wild expectations, joining the business, getting your degree, sleeping and eating like Mom wants you to. You’re making them proud, which is all fine and fucking dandy, Cassie, but you’re not _living_.”

Castiel swallowed hard, peeling his eyes away to look at the case in his brother’s left hand. Silence fell between them, uncomfortable and making the skin on Castiel’s neck tight and itchy. He ached to reach out and grab it, to shove it back onto its rightful place on the shelf and act like the album, the artist, the songs did nothing for him. If it was put away, he could pretend it didn’t exist.

“Can I please have it back,” he said after a moment, eyes trained on the rundown edge of carpet where the computer chair mat used to sit.

“Yeah, Cassie,” Gabriel replied with another sigh, tossing the case on the desk with a clatter. Castiel jumped at the noise, but kept his eyes on the ground. Gabriel snorted then pushed away from the chair, leaving the room with a sharp snap of the door latching closed.

Castiel sat there for a moment, the chair spinning gently to the side from where his brother used it to push himself to his feet. His stomach twisted and he finally closed his eyes, breathing in deep and holding it. _One… two… three…_

When he opened his eyes, he was facing the desk completely, the CD case the first thing that came into view. He reached for it, hating how his hands were shaking, hating how there was bile at the back of his throat and how his eyes were burning.

He thumbed the edge of the case, opening it up. Dean, Jo, Benny, and Ash stared up at him in a line, their arms around one another, all four of them smiling. He remembered that day, he was there for the photoshoot, and even had a few of the hard copies of the photos with him in them too. Though, none of those made the album’s jacket.

Written across the bottom in a silver sharpie were the words he saw even with his eyes closed.

_I know I should’ve said it… I’m sorry. - DW_

“Not sorry enough,” Castiel whispered as he snapped the case shut, the top corner breaking off in a tiny, sharp sliver. He stared at it, his vision slowly blurring as tears finally sprang to his eyes.

It didn’t matter if the case was broken. It didn’t matter because the album meant nothing. Dean Winchester meant nothing.

The thought only made Castiel’s tears come faster. He stood up, taking the case and the broken plastic with him as he fell on top of the covers.

Everything had been so perfect until Castiel had to go ahead and fall in love. He wished with every bone in his body that he could move on, he knew Dean probably had, and that the love he still kept could turn to hate.

But he could never hate Dean, no matter how badly he wanted to.

He reached for the CD player in his top drawer, trying not to think of when he opened it on Christmas morning, or Dean’s voice whispering in his ear, “It’s not as good as Baby’s tape deck, but it sure as hell beats an iPod…” and memories of the rest of the morning spent in bed.

Castiel slid the disc into place and pressed play, the opening track nearly overwhelming with the bass and guitar. The music planned out, softening, as Dean’s voice came over his headphones, deep and soft, but holding so much soul.

Castiel let the tears fall, just for tonight, and fell asleep before the eighth track.


	2. What am I even doing?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you Alex for helping me and keeping me saaaaaaane like always ♥
> 
> A little insight to the boy's best friends!

“Get in,” Charlie called out the open passenger window, beaming at Castiel as he came down the front walkway, hands tucked deep into his hoodie. He gave her a small smile, but from the look on her face as he opened the door and slid into the seat, he looked about as great as he felt. “Dude, who pissed in your cheerios this morning? Are you okay?”

“Yeah,” he answered, sniffing loudly and reaching for the seatbelt. “I just… didn’t sleep all that well.”

He felt Charlie staring at the side of his head and he fought the urge to start crying again. He’d done enough of that the night before, and he’d promised himself that morning in the shower when his eyes had started burning that enough was enough. He was done crying over Dean fucking Winchester.

“We can skip Econ, if you want.”

Castiel smiled then, rolling his head to the side to meet his best friend’s eyes. He had no idea what he did to get a friend like her in his life, but he was more than grateful. “No, you know we can’t skip another class. Adler would be on our ass about it.”

“True,” Charlie agreed, reaching to start up the engine, “but all we have to do is school him in every stupid question he tries to stump us with and he’ll get embarrassed and move on. His econ is so high school level, Cas. If we only showed up for the tests and final? We would _still_ ace his course."

Although she had a good point, he knew her well enough that if he agreed, they would spend the first three hours of the morning at the coffee shop on campus with Charlie grilling him on what was wrong. And that was something he was not interested in.

“No, as much as I would prefer watching you suck down a double foam sugar concoction, we should make an appearance. If anything, I have extra credit assignments I can work on for accounting.”

“Which you could do with your eyes closed,” Charlie muttered, but put the car into drive and looked over her shoulder before pulling back out onto the road.

Castiel didn't answer, choosing to look out the window instead. He saw his mother standing in the large bay window above the gardens, their gardener already hard at work with his hands deep in the soil. When she caught him looking, she gave one simple curt nod and let the curtain sway back into place.

She hated that he allowed Charlie to pick him up, said it looked 'unsightly' for a woman to be picking up a man, never mind the fact that Castiel refused to use the car they'd purchased him. Castiel went out of his way to keep from behind the wheel of it -- it was too flashy, too expensive, and Charlie’s small yellow Volkswagen was much more comfortable, anyways.

He knew the reason she was standing at the window watching, however, had nothing to do with the fact Castiel wasn't driving and everything to do with her trying to 'catch them in the act'. She was convinced he and Charlie were dating, insisted that he invite his girlfriend over for dinner to meet the family properly. It was easier to let her believe that than admit to her that neither he or Charlie were exactly batting for the other's team.

His brothers knew, of course, and had no issues with it. Gabriel made a point to enforce that he was an 'equal opportunity lover' at any chance he could. His parents had a hard enough time getting over that, responding in kind with offering up their friend’s daughters and planning luncheons or dinners. They claimed that when Gabriel was truly ready to settle down, he would court and marry a woman the right way, as that was the end game for them all.

The thought made Castiel cringe. The presence of Charlie at least halted his mother’s incessant matchmaking. She used to spend her days sending Facebook requests and messages, inviting young girls and their families over for cocktails in the evenings. The excuse of schoolwork did nothing to curb her, either, for her and Castiel’s father met in college, falling in love between papers and frat parties.

There was one time when he'd entertained the idea of introducing his parents to Dean... the idea of it laughable now.

Castiel’s parents had been furious at his decision not to fly home for the holiday, choosing instead to stay in the crammed two bedroom flat with four other people. But, the ‘Friendsgiving’ he had two years ago was unlike anything Castiel had ever experienced. The silverware didn’t match, and their plates only did because they’d been a Costco special. They ate their meal in two courses since they gravely miscalculated the time it would take to cook a turkey, and ended up sitting in a circle on the living room floor, a pie in each of their laps, passing them about and eating all six desserts straight from the tins.

Laying on the pull out couch – their bed since Jo coined the smallest as her own and Benny and Ash shared the second – Castiel had pressed himself close to Dean’s side and easily imagined this being his life. He could see himself spending every Thanksgiving, Christmas, New Years, Easter, Birthdays… the works, laughing with Dean at his side.

There was nothing formal or orchestrated, it was light and fun, and Dean laughed the entire day through. The only thing that was missing was Dean’s brother Sam, and Castiel’s brothers Lucas and Gabriel.

“Hey, Dean?” he whispered, tilting his head so his chin was resting against Dean’s bare chest. “Do you think next Thanksgiving, we could make a formal appearance at my parents? I… I really want you to meet my family.”

Castiel felt Dean shift, knew the other man was looking down at him, and then felt a gentle kiss to his forehead.

“I know it won’t be like today, in fact, don’t expect it to be anything like today. There’s a high chance my parents will kick us out anyways, once they know I’m in a relationship with a man, but… we could meet up with the crew afterwards, maybe? Or just… eat turkey sandwiches and pie on our own… it won’t be the most fun, I assure you, but—”

“Cas,” Dean interrupted him, pressing his lips more firmly against Castiel’s forehead before reaching out and tipping his head up. Castiel met Dean’s eyes in the overcast glow from the streetlights through the cheap curtains. “I honestly don’t care if I have to wear a tuxedo and am only served caviar. Being with you, no matter where we are, is enough.”

Castiel had felt his breath hitch and tipped his head up, catching Dean’s lips with his own. It had been three months since he walked out of the dimly lit bar with Dean’s arm around his shoulders, and it was the kiss that kept him from spilling out his confession: he was in love with Dean Winchester.

“Dude,” Charlie broke through his thoughts, reaching over to touch his arm. Castiel looked over, catching her worried gaze before she turned her attention back to the road, “what are you thinking about so hard over there?”

“Thanksgiving,” he answered honestly, watching the confusion flit across her face.

“Cas, you realize it’s… not even October, right?”

“Oh, I know,” Castiel said quickly, nodding his head. “I just… the last two Thanksgivings were... experiences.”

“Okay,” Charlie said slowly, and he could see her trying to piece together how they got from no sleep and economics to Thanksgiving. “So, did something happen?” she finally asked, easing the car to a stop at the lights and turning to look at him again. “Are we talking nightmare worthy experiences? Is that why you didn’t sleep?”

“No,” Castiel shook his head, “I was just…” he stopped and sighed. “My parents think we’re dating.”

Charlie gave a small laugh before her eyes widened. “Wait, seriously? They think that you and I are together?” Castiel nodded, the corner of his mouth lifting in a smile as Charlie burst into giggles. “I mean, not only am I very much _not_ single, but I am also very much not your type! Can you imagine?” She shook her head, the car rolling forward as the light turned green before she sped up to merge onto the highway.

“So, your parents really don’t know?”

“No,” Castiel answered, shifting in his seat and picking at the seatbelt across his lap. “They… wouldn’t approve.”

“I thought you said your brother was bisexual, out and proud and all that. I mean, he has more sexual orientation flags on his car than a freaking PFLAG group.” 

Castiel laughed, thinking of his brother’s Mercedes, sleek and black until you came around the backside and there was a colorful array of bumper stickers. His parents forced Gabriel to park in the garage, not wanting the ‘defiled’ vehicle to be seen in their driveway.

“They believe it’s a phase,” Castiel explained, giving her a half shrug. “Part of his teenage rebellion he hasn’t shaken yet, and that once he’s ready to ‘grow up’, he’ll stop making plays at boys to upset them. He’s only ever brought one person around the house to meet the family, and that was his long-term girlfriend, Kali, when I was still in high school. That, to them, is all the proof they need that he’s actually ‘normal’.”

Charlie shook her head, a scowl on her face, and Castiel had to agree.

“Alright, so your parents think we’re dating, and this got you to think about Thanksgiving?” Charlie glanced over at him, an eyebrow already raised. “I don’t think having me meet the family and pretend to be your girl is a good idea, Cas. I mean, I’m sure you’ve seen enough Rom-Coms to know how badly this can turn out.”

“Well, option one is that my parents will get extremely pissed off and disown me for lying to them, on top of being a flaming homosexual. Option two is that we will realize, though all of our friends and family could’ve told us _months_ ago, that we’re wildly and madly in love, and can go off to buy a farmhouse and have three-point-four kids.”

“I’m only buying a farmhouse with you if I can get a pig,” Charlie stated, braking a little too hard as she moved towards the exit for the school. “Sorry,” she muttered, but Castiel waved her off.

“A pig? Why not something normal like… an-”

“Emu?”

“In what world would an Emu be normal, Charlie?” Castiel asked with a laugh, his headache finally receding and for once that morning, he felt lighter and happier than he had since the album from Dean had arrived in the mail a week ago.

“Obviously in the world of a giant farm with three-point-four children being run by two flaming homosexuals, Castiel.” 

He couldn’t argue with that.

___________________________________________________

Jo was going to kill him. He didn’t need to look up to see her expression to know it. He could feel her gaze burning into the top of his head, and he resisted the urge to rip the page free from his notebook.

“Dean,” she whispered, and the tone was not one that he’d expected at all. He swallowed hard and looked up, jerking back when he saw her eyes were swimming with tears. 

“What?” he asked, voice shaking. It hadn’t been shaking a minute ago when he’d been singing… 

Jo sucked her lower lip into her mouth, crossing her arms over her chest tightly. When she released it, her lip was bright pink and swollen, her teeth having left an imprint. “When did you write that?” 

“I don’t know,” Dean replied, looking back down at it. The words were smudged in the top corner, and he couldn’t remember if it was from spilt booze or tears. If he were to be honest, it was probably both, but honesty was not in the cards. He smoothed out the wrinkled corner and looked back up. “Few months, I guess.”

Her lip was trembling as she looked at him, and then suddenly she moved, slipping off the kitchen table to climb into his lap on the chair. She wrapped her arms around his neck, clinging to him for all she was worth. Dean had no choice but to hug her back and stare at the side of her head, completely confused. 

“Do you still feel that way?” she whispered against his throat, her voice thick with tears. 

Dean sighed. “Jo, it’s just a song.”

She pulled back suddenly, punching him in the center of the chest. He coughed, his breath catching in his throat, and it took all of his will power not to dump her on the floor. 

“People don’t just write suicidal songs, Dean! I asked you a freaking question!”

Dean swallowed hard, unable to meet her eyes. They were bright and blue, still shining with tears, and he was the one that put them there. He also didn’t know how to answer the question. 

He wasn’t suicidal, he knew that much. He had no plans to hurt himself, didn’t _want_ to die, but… if something were to happen to him, it would just be what it was. He didn’t know how to explain to her that he felt nothing, hadn’t felt anything in months, but wished to fucking _God_ he could feel something again. 

The last year had been mostly struggling through the darkness, and while he couldn’t argue his state of mind back then, he knew that he wasn’t a danger to himself now. The words helped him stay above water, in a sense. He was able to give out his darkest secrets, bury the way he was feeling in lyrics that he could shove under his mattress at the end of the day. 

Hell, if this song had upset her… There was no way in hell he could continue going through this book. Most of them were written while he was coming down from a high, words barley making sense, but a clear window to how much pain he’d been in. The high had kept it at bay, part of why he craved it running through his veins. Benny had his own reasons, but when they were out in the Impala, parked in an alley or out of the city in a wide open field, he didn’t feel alone anymore. 

He missed the pain sometimes, now. He’d done everything and anything to make it go away, but feeling nothing at all? It was actually worse. 

“Jo,” he cleared his throat, pulling her back into a hug, “I’m not suicidal, okay? It really is just a song. I must’ve been having a bad day and just… was dramatic.” He forced a small chuckle, along with a squeeze around her shoulders, and hoped it would be enough to placate her. 

“Dean,” she whispered, pulling back and reaching for his face. She cupped his cheeks, forcing him to look her in the eyes again. “I’ve known you my entire life, okay? I know you. I _know_ you.” 

He swallowed hard. 

“You can’t lie to me, okay?” 

“I know,” he whispered, licking his lips. “I promise you, Jo. I’m okay.” 

Jo watched him for another moment, then slid off his lap to resume her position on the table. He waited, perfectly still, while she collected her thoughts. Part of him wanted to snatch up the book and take it back to his room; the last thing he needed was her calling Ellen and sharing some of the things he’d written. The other part of him wanted her to do just that. Wanted her to call up their mom, spill Dean’s secrets, and let Ellen take care of it. Ellen would know what to do, she _always_ did. 

Jo reached back, pulling her hair up in a high ponytail and then slid the notebook to her. She flipped through the pages quickly, shaking her head when she got to the last, word filled page. “I don’t think now is the time to go through these, Dean.”

“Crowley needs new songs, Jo,” he replied, but was already standing from his chair. 

“I know, and we’ll get them to him. But… these aren’t our songs.” 

Dean nodded and accepted the notebook, turning around and slipping into the hallway. He stopped short when he saw Benny leaning against the wall, scratching the back of his neck and avoiding Dean’s gaze when he realized he’d been caught. 

Dean signed and nudged him back, waving his free hand for Benny to follow. His room was a mess, a short path through the clothes he probably should’ve washed today led him straight to his bed, and he immediately shoved the notebook back between the mattress and boxspring. Behind him, Benny shut the bedroom door and was leaning back against it. Thankfully, his friends eyes were trained on him and not on the mess of the floor… 

“What, Ben?” Dean asked as he climbed over the mattress, pointedly ignoring Cas’ nightstand, and reaching for a shoe box tucked between it and the wall. Inside were crisp, new composition notebooks and he pulled the top one out. He flopped back onto the mattress, resting his feet against the frame of the bed before looking up at Benny. 

“Brother…” Benny trailed off, taking a deep breath. “You need to move on.”

Dean felt his eyebrow raise, a spark of something hot in the pit of his stomach. It was gone before he could recognize what it meant. 

“You’re telling me to move on, Ben?” He kept his voice low, pinned Benny with a stare. “Didn’t you spend those months with me in rehab, swearing off Jo, calling your relationship toxic, saying that--”

“Hey!” Benny cut him off with a sharp bark, pushing away from the door. He took one step then stopped, closing his eyes and taking a deep breath. Dean recognized the breathing technique from the center and he had to bite back his comment on that, too. 

“Dean,” Benny started again, calmer this time. “Look, brother. I know you’re hurting, okay? Fuck, we all miss him, okay? But its been a year now, you’ve done so much fucking good, gotten so goddamn far. I know that more than anyone else, okay? Yeah, Jo and I had our issues, but we’re good now, and don’t you dare try to knock that because your boy didn’t show up in your time of need.”

“Get out.”

“No, not until I’m finished.” Benny stared at him and Dean pointedly looked away. If he demanded it, Benny would leave, would respect him enough to give him the space. 

He stayed silent. 

“It takes two to tangle, Dean. Jo came around, she busted my balls as much as her own, and we got through a lot of shit together. No one is saying where we came from was perfect, but where we are now has taken a lot of effort. Cas made his choice, Dean. He _left_ , okay? He walked away and then you spiraled -- we _both_ spiraled,” Benny corrected as Dean’s eyes shot up again. 

“You and me, we got through that shit together. I wouldn’t be here today if it weren’t for you. But Jo stayed at my side. I’m sorry Cas didn’t. But Dean… he’s not coming back.”

“You don’t know that,” Dean whispered, his chest tightening. He picked at the corner of the notebook still in his hands. 

“I do, Dean. We all know that, even you.” Benny sighed, kicking at a shirt by his boot. “I could be wrong, Dean, but you can’t live the rest of your life waiting for something that just… isn’t going to happen. You need to move on, brother. You need to get out there, bang a few chicks, a couple dudes, I don’t care. Any one that can help pull you out of this slump you’re in.”

“I’m fine, Benny.”

“No, Dean, you’re not! You think we don’t see? You think we don’t know you?” Benny laughed and leaned back, his head thinking against the door. “You barely get out of bed, and when you do it’s for coffee and whatever food Ash or Jo manage to shove down your throat. You aren’t showering unless you have to, you show up to work and immediately come back here. You won’t watch shows with us, never want to go out, hell Dean, look at your room!” Benny laughed again, bending down to pick up the shirt he’d kicked. “You used to be on all our asses about keeping things in order, pulled a page right out of Daddy Winchester’s Marine handbook and had us all doing fucking military corners on the beds!”

Dean clicked his tongue and gave a shrug. “Some things just don’t matter, Benny.” 

“We’re worried about you. _I’m_ worried about you.”

Dean dropped the notebook onto his lap, reaching up with one hand to rub at his temples. He had no idea what they wanted from him -- working, recording, meal times, he showed up to them all. Why the hell was his free time required to be spent with the people he lived and breathed with 24/7? 

“Fine,” he whispered, squeezing his thumb and forefinger against his temples before releasing them and looking up. “Let’s go out tonight. I’m sure everyone would like a night out. I need to get some work done with Jo, because if we don’t have a single-worthy song for him by next week, he’ll kill us. But then we can go out, okay?”

Benny stared back at him, his gaze and silence making Dean’s skin itch. Wasn’t he giving Benny everything he wanted? Isn’t that what this entire conversation was about? He lifted his hands, flipping over his palms to say ‘well?’ and Benny finally moved. 

He reached behind him, opening up the bedroom door and took a step back into the hallway. “Sounds good, brother,” he said and gave Dean a small smile. “You pick the place, I’ll tell the others.”


	3. Why am I fucking up so bad?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ahhh sorry it's a day late! I had a sick pup I was dealing with yesterday and then I had to go to work and time got away from me. Thank you so much for all of the positive feedback I've gotten! You guys are the best ♥

Dean tipped his head back, swallowing the remaining bourbon in his glass before knocking it back to the bar. Beside him, Benny was doing the same, laughing at something Jo said on the other side of him. The music was pounding, making the splitting in Dean’s head a hundred times worse. But, he promised Benny. He promised that he’d _try_.

He nodded at the bartender and held up two fingers when she motioned to his glass. It was easier with the liquid courage running through his veins; easier to laugh, to wink at the women who looked his way, to join into the conversations around him. It was addicting, the heat rising to his cheeks almost fooled him into believing the sound of his laughter was genuine, that the smile on his face was real. He met eyes with Benny once and found himself wondering if his friend felt the same way. They’d both experimented and fell into drugs for different reasons, but the reason they stayed in was one in the same. Did Benny find himself in the dark night after night, just like Dean?

But then, Jo grabbed the side of Benny’s face, pulling him closer so she could give him a sloppy, margarita-salted kiss, and Dean pushed the question away. The air around them was suddenly thick, heat clinging to his skin. He peeled off the outer layer of his flannel, laying it over his lap, and looked up to find a woman at the end of the bar staring at him. She smiled slowly, then winked and blew him a kiss. The lights were dim, the brightest part of the bar was lit inwards for the bartenders to do their job, but she looked pretty enough. He glanced back at Jo and Benny who were now occupying one barstool and shook his head.

Good an offer as any.

He picked up his newly filled glass and slid off his barstool, weaving through the crowd to sit beside the woman. She tipped her head to the side to look at him, a wave of brown curls falling behind her shoulder, her green eyes sparkling as they met his.

"Saw you stripping," she said with a wink, nodding to Dean's flannel. "Little early for that, don't you think? You haven't even asked my name."

Dean chuckled and leaned his arm against the bar, giving him the ability to lean in closer to her. "Oh? Now, isn't that a bit presumptuous? What if I was just enjoying a night out with my friends?"

She laughed, reaching forward to place her hand over Dean's forearm. "Oh, honey. We're all here looking for something. And I know for a fact, you're going home with me."

Dean simply smiled in return, holding up his glass. She picked up her martini glass, tipping it forward to clink against Dean's before they both took a sip. "Name's Dean," he offered after a moment, feeling her squeeze his arm.

"Pamela," she replied, "and I would really like to get out of here, Dean."

Dean licked his lower lip slowly, eyeing her up and down. It was cliché, he knew, but if the smile he got in return was anything to go by, it was appreciated. He felt his stomach flip at the implication of what leaving this bar with her would mean. Even through his months of working through a drug filled haze, he’d spent every night on his own.

He swallowed hard, then nodded, tipping back the remainder of his drink and standing up. He waited for Pamela to finish hers, then held out his arm for her to grab. She smiled and winked, letting him lead them from the bar.

The air outside was cool, and he had a brief moment of regret that he hadn’t slipped his flannel back on, before Pamela tugged on him gently and steered him around the back of the building. The bar was attached restaurant with a thin alley in-between them. On the opposite side was a large brick building, filled with condos.

Pamela slowly pulled a ring of keys from the back pocket of her jeans, giving Dean a moment to look down at her ass, before she let them into a side door and led him to the elevator.

Dean felt his stomach flip as she punched the button for the fourth floor. She seemed calm and collected, each glance she threw at him full of heat, but Dean was anything but. His hands twitched at his side and he fought with himself over if he was supposed to push her against the back of the elevator and taste her lips. Should he reach for her now? Try to cop a feel? Should he say something, start a conversation?

He was still contemplating when the elevator dinged its arrival and Pamela winked and stepped out into the hallway. They made their way down the hallway, Dean a step or two behind her, until they reached a door marked 409. 

“Home sweet home,” Pamela said as she unlocked and swung the door open, stepping to the side to allow Dean to enter.  There was a soft glow coming from a hall light plugged in by the door, and a homey, spicy scent filled the apartment. He breathed in deep, trying to force himself to relax as he handed Pamela his flannel and bent down to undo his boots. 

“Living room is to the left,” she instructed, pointing for effect as she hung up her own jacket and dropped her keys into a ceramic bowl. “Want a water?”

“Uh, sure,” Dean answered, nodding as he toed his second boot off, looking up to watch her walk around the corner and go to the right. He stood, taking a moment to collect himself, before heading to the living room.

The room was well furnished and cozy, though decorated with nothing that Dean himself would’ve owned. He sat down on the large, dark purple couch and looked around the room. There were large, pink salt lamps, glowing from various perches around the room, and hand-woven rugs on the floor and the walls. There wasn’t a television, but there was an ornate crystal ball on a side table and Dean laughed to himself. He wondered if Pamela would somehow ‘see’ how nervous he was. 

He looked up as she came back into view, two bottles of water in her hands. A hush fell between them, palpable, and Dean felt himself swallow hard. Pamela put the waters down on the coffee table and walked towards him, her hips swaying gently. Dean felt rather than commanded his arms rise, hands coming to settle on her hips as she climbed knee first onto the couch, settling over his lap.

Dean tipped his head up, finding Pamela’s mouth in a soft but fierce kiss. His hands trailed up her hips, slipping beneath the cotton tank top she wore, and pushing the fabric up. She rolled her hips forward, her breasts pressing against his chest, her tongue pressing hot against Dean’s lips until he opened for her.

It felt good – all heat, all want, and yet… Dean’s stomach rolled. This was _wrong_.

He tried to force the thought away, battling it down inside by kissing Pamela harder, hands pressing further until they broke apart so he could pull her tank top from over her head. Her hair fell like a curtain, soft against his cheek as she dipped forward, mouth finding the sensitive part beneath Dean’s jaw.

He gasped, closed his eyes, and fought back the sudden choking feeling in his throat.

Pamela stilled against him. She kissed his cheek softly, then pulled back, looking down at him with an expression that was anything but lustful. Dean’s vision was blurred as he tried to pull her back in, but the woman in his lap was strong, shaking her head as she sat back on his lap.

“Oh baby,” she said softly, reaching a hand up to cup his cheek. “Who was she?”

Dean shook his head, trying once more to pull her back in. This is what he needed, this is what would make everything better.

“No? Well, who was he?”

The dam inside broke and Dean suddenly found his face pressed against Pamela’s chest, his eyes burning. She wrapped her arms around him and off set their balance, hugging him tightly as they fell to the side. Somehow, she maneuvered them both, Dean following her willingly, until they were laying side by side, stretched out.

Pamela hummed gently, her hands soothing as they rubbed nonsensical patterns into Dean’s shoulders, her skin warm and comfortable as Dean allowed a few tears to slip free. His stomach protested, his skin feeling hot and prickly, his head feeling too heavy. What the fuck was wrong with him? He had a beautiful women, half naked in his lap and willing, and he was crying over a man who walked away from him.

“Oh honey,” Pamela whispered, scratching her hand back through his hair. “We can’t choose who we love.”

“Didn’t mean to say that out loud,” Dean mumbled, thankfully too exhausted to be embarrassed. Pamela chuckled, scratching the back of his neck before pulling back and repeating the motion.

“If it makes you feel better, I don’t do the whole crying during sex thing, so you have a half-naked, no longer willing woman, curled up with you.”

Dean found himself smiling despite himself and shook his head. “Not sure if that makes me feel any better.”

He felt Pamela smile against his cheek, her hand now moving down to rub between his shoulder blades. She hummed softly again for a few minutes, allowing Dean more time to collect himself. Then she asked, “Do you want to talk about it?”

“Not really sure there’s anything to talk about.”

“There’s always something to talk about,” Pamela argued back, though her tone was kind.

Dean should leave. He should excuse himself, apologize for ruining her night, and see if Benny and Jo were still at the bar so he could have company while he begged the bartender for the entire bottle of bourbon to drown himself in. But, what came out instead, was –

“He just… left me, Pam. He walked out of my life and took everything with him.”

“Left you high and dry?”

“No, not… not material things.” Dean shook his head, squeezing his eyes shut tightly, as if not seeing anything would make it hurt less. “But everything about _me_. I don’t laugh anymore, I don’t get angry. I don’t feel fucking anything. Why can’t I feel anything?”

“You do, Dean. You feel more than you think you do,” Pamela replied. “Think about it, really think about it.”

“I don’t… I don’t feel anything except for empty, Pam,” Dean whispered, shaking his head.

“That feeling is the worst of them all.”

Dean had nothing to say to that. They lay quiet, Dean focusing on the rise and fall of her chest and matching his own breathing with hers, until Pamela stopped rubbing his back and fell still. There was a moment where Dean was sure she’d fallen asleep until she shifted, untangling herself from him on the couch and sitting up.

“Alright, hot stuff, up and at ‘em.”

Dean nodded, pulling himself off the couch and accepting the bottle of water she was handing him. He downed half of it, the plastic crinkling as he squeezed it seeming way to loud to his ears. He started to move towards the door, ready to put his boots on and pretend none of this ever happened when she grabbed his arm, stopping him.

“Oh no, you’re not leaving. Let’s go.”

Numb, Dean followed. Her bedroom as decorated similar to the living room, in dark shades of purples and maroons. She released him to shut the door, then walked over to the nightstand, unclasping her bra as she went. She bent down to open the bottom drawer, pulling out a large t-shirt and tossing it over to him, before pulling out a second and pulling it on. She shimmied out of her jeans and walked to the bed, pulling back the covers while Dean stared at her.

“Well?” she said, waving her arm at him. “You’re not sleeping in that. You smell like a brewery and jeans aren’t good sleeping pants.”

Slowly, Dean nodded, walking over to the other side of the bed and depositing the water there before stripping and pulling the t-shirt on. He looked down, giving a small laugh at the black, rock and roll themed bear positioned suggestively on the front of the shirt. Then, he crawled into bed beside her.

“Now,” Pamela started, shifting around to get comfortable and putting one of her legs over his, “I want to know all about this boy that’s got you all spun out of shape.”

Dean swallowed hard, glancing to the side and meeting Pamela’s eyes in the dim light of the bedroom. She seemed sincere, both concerned and curious, and Dean found himself wanting to talk about Cas for the first time in a long time.

He nodded and started to talk. He told her about the blue of Castiel’s eyes, how they were a shade all their own, indescribable and beautiful. He told her about how he laughed, his entire face scrunching up, his body moving with it, and though it was rare, it was the most amazing sound in the world. He told her about the foods Cas liked, the ones he got Dean to try, and the Monday nights they’d carved aside for themselves as ‘date night’ since Monday’s sucked and there should’ve been at least one thing to celebrate. He talked and talked, about Castiel’s likes, dislikes, his quirks, the things he did that frustrated the fuck out of Dean and the things he did that made Dean miss him something awful.

He talked until he could barely form words through his yawning, his eyes unable to open. And he fell asleep to Pamela whispering against his ear, “I think I would love him, too.”

 

__________________________________________________

 

“I don’t see the point of this,” Castiel muttered, forcing his eyes ahead while Charlie snorted beside him. “We’re never going to win.”

His heart was beating rapidly and he forced himself to keep his eyes on the whiteboard before him, pretending to care about what Professor Tran was talking about. He even had his pen poised over a fresh sheet of notebook paper, ready to write down any equation she threw their way. Charlie, however, was having none of it.

“That doesn’t mean we can’t try, Cas! I mean come on, its at least worth a shot, right?” She scrolled through her phone again, leaning forward so a cascade of bright red hair covered her screen from Professor Tran’s view. If anything, it looked like Charlie was studiously taking notes, not scrolling through the radio station’s website.

“No, Charlie,” Castiel whispered back. “I don’t even -”

“Don’t give me that,” Charlie interrupted, kicking him beneath the table. “I’ve seen the album in your room, Cas. I know you like the band enough to have their CD. And furthermore, _I_ like the band. If you’re that against me entering the contest, I’ll just buy us tickets instead.”

Castiel bit his tongue, forcing himself to calm down.

Devium was coming to Boston, a little over an hour drive to the House of Blues, and Charlie was already planning a weekend getaway. The first thing he’d felt was excitement, the band was going on tour, which meant their latest album had done better than any of them had expected and Crowley was pushing them in all the right ways. The second thing he felt was fear.

Dean was coming here.

Massachusetts was a hell of a lot closer to New Hampshire than California was. What if Dean came looking for him?

The thought was stupid, really, and rationally Castiel knew that, but it didn’t stop his anxiety from amping up or keep him from looking to the door, half expecting Dean to burst into the room to announce to the class that Castiel wasn’t good enough.

He swallowed and glanced over, wincing when he met Charlie’s eyes. His friend was staring back at him, expectantly. He either had to give her an excuse, the only one of which that would be good enough was the truth or let her apply for the stupid contest.

To be fair, the chances of her actually winning the concert tickets and the VIP passes, which as Charlie recounted excitedly before class started included drinks with the band after the show, were slim to none. And if he encouraged her enough, pretended like he was convinced they would win, she wouldn’t go and buy the tickets on her own. The concert also wasn’t until June, giving Castiel almost ten months to figure out how to get out of going _if_ she did manage to win.

He rolled his eyes, nodding stiffly, and felt her fist pump beside him.

“You’re going to be my date for Thanksgiving,” he commented, returning back to his notes.

“Sure thing,” Charlie answered back, beaming as she started typing furiously on her phone. “I’m going to enter as Gabriel, too…”

Castiel looked back over at her, eyes wide. “I thought _you_ were just entering?”

“No, of course not! I’m entering you, me, my mother, your brother…” she continued listing people, but Castiel tuned her out. There was no way. It didn’t matter if she put in a hundred names, Boston was a big enough city, and Devium had a big enough following, that neither one of them knew enough people to be picked out of that.

It would be okay. It had to be.

 

***

 

Charlie was talking animatedly as they walked to her car, wondering aloud what each member of the band would be like in person.

“Do you think Jo is really as sweet as she appears in her interviews?”

“I don’t know,” Castiel answered. In reality, the truth was yes. Jo was a spitfire, she took no shit from anyone, just like her mama. But she had a damn heart of gold and would give you the shirt straight off her back if you needed it. She cared about everyone instantly, and you were immediately in her good graces until you proved her wrong. It was Jo that he missed the most, other than Dean…

“Do you think Benny smells good? I bet he does, I bet hugging him would be like hugging a big teddy bear…”

Castiel snorted, nodding slowly. Benny and Dean used the same aftershave, spicy and woodsy at the same time. He loved going in after either one of them in the mornings to shower, the bathroom smelling like Christmas morning without the overpowering cinnamon and pine. Out of all of them, Benny was probably the one Charlie would like to talk with the most.

“What about the synthesizer guy? Do you think he has that hairstyle because he likes it?”

“Ash?” Castiel glanced over and gave a small shrug. “I’m sure he does, why else would he have a mullet?” _Business in the front, party in the back!_ Ash was damn proud of his hairstyle, and spent his drunken nights trying to convince Benny, Dean, and even Jo that they should change their hairstyles to match his. That it could be their _thing_.

Castiel held his breath, waiting for the last comment.

“Do you think Dean’s eyes are really that green?”

He couldn’t answer, couldn’t nod. He could only follow blindly behind Charlie as she unlocked the car and got into the driver’s seat, still wondering about Dean’s eyes and his looks and his laugh and –

“Hey, do you want to get a coffee?” He cut her off midsentence, shoving his backpack a little too forcefully between his legs. “I just… don’t want to go home yet.”

“Oh, yeah! Sure!” she replied, beaming at him as she started up the car. “It’s been literally forever since we grabbed a coffee. Do you want to just say screw it and grab food, too?”

“Sure,” Castiel nodded, reaching behind his shoulder for the seatbelt and taking his time fastening it. “We could go to that café on Main, they have better food than Starbucks.”

“See? This is why we’re friends,” Charlie laughed, starting up the car, “you just _know_ me, Castiel. I have been dying for one of their double chocolate muffins. Ooh, they’re so good!”

Castiel smiled and nodded. “I could definitely go for one of their coffee rolls.”

“We should just buy one of everything, honestly.”

Castiel laughed and shook his head. He turned to look out the window as she pulled out of the parking lot, easing onto the road that went around the back of the campus. He felt slightly guilty for how excited she was to spend some time with him outside of the classroom and made a mental note to try to get out with her more – she spent far too much time cooped up in her dorm room, her roommate gone half the time with her boyfriend and leaving Charlie alone.

“Do you think it’s going to snow?” he asked absently, looking up at the grey sky.

“Cas, it’s like, not even October. Of course it’s not going to snow.”

He nodded and watched her reach forward, flicking on the radio. He was grateful it was on the country-rock station she’d put on that morning, and let the music fill the silence, the talk of Dean and his band seemingly forgotten.


	4. It's Raining, It's Sunny; It Doesn't Make a Difference

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The song in the end of this chapter is [Little One by Highly Suspect](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=eKcIedFBiVU). It's one of my favorites and fit perfectly! (Who am I kidding, I love all of their songs!).

“Honestly, Castiel! What are you doing?”

Castiel allowed himself another moment of bliss, as if he could simply ignore the irritated, high pitched lilt of his name coming from his mother’s mouth. Then, Naomi clicked her tongue and he relented, sighing and stretching his legs out from underneath him to press against the plush carpet. He wished he’d sat in the center of the couch, the coffee table would’ve hidden his socked feet.

Naomi was standing in full business attire, despite it being a Sunday morning, and had her arms crossed tightly over her chest. She looked calm, cool, and collected as ever, but Castiel knew better.

“Are you going to answer me?” she said finally, a single eyebrow raising to emphasize the unspoken remark, _Please, Castiel, go ahead and try to give an appropriate excuse._

“I was simply studying, Mother,” he tried, swallowing as her expression narrowed. He shifted the book on his lap, clenching his toes into the carpet. “I was just - ”

“Lounging, Castiel. You were lounging. Did you honestly expect to get any studying done like this?” She waved an arm out in the air between them, her eyes moving from the stretched college sweatshirt he’d stolen from Lucas years ago, down to the plaid, flannel pajama bottoms. He followed her gaze and just barely refrained from wincing as he noticed the hole in the toe of his right sock.

“What have I always told you boys?”

Castiel looked back up, closing his textbook as he recited, “Your attire is first in attitude, if you want to succeed you must dress for success.”

“Precisely. How are you ever going to get any studying done while you’re laying around on the couch like that? I won’t even get into the fact that your _feet_ were up on the cushions! Honestly,” she shook her head, clicking her tongue once again, “what if we were to have company this morning? We often get surprise visitors, Sundays are the best day for investment luncheons! You know your father is working to add more HHAs to Comprehensive Health.”

Of course he knew, that had been all their family dinners were compromised of lately – how many home health agencies on the East Coast would be certifiable to fit under the appropriate practices approved by the Novak’s. His father had been bringing home stacks of paperwork to comb through different companies business practices while Lucas focused on their finances. It would only be a matter of time before Chuck and Naomi invited specific CAOs and CIOs into the home or for a weekend getaway to get their foot in the door.

Properly chastised, Castiel made to excuse himself. Although he knew he had a halfway decent chance of staying in his room just as he was to study, he knew he would hear about it later. His best bet was to change into a button up shirt and slacks, and bring his studying materials to the office where Naomi was undoubtedly headed. He was halfway to the edge of the living room when Gabriel came bursting through the front door, cheeks pink from the cold.

“Mother!” he called, the gleefulness in his tone making Castiel wish he’d ran from the room instead of attempting to save face for their mother. From Naomi’s expression, she too knew her middle son was up to no good. “Oh good, you’re _both_ here!”

Gabriel stripped his coat free, flinging it towards the coat hangers and not even flinching as it missed completely and fell into a heap on the floor. He grabbed Castiel’s arm as he entered the living room, spinning him around before releasing him to practically dive bomb the couch.

For a moment, Castiel stopped breathing.

“Gabriel Allen Novak!” Naomi gasped, horrified, as Gabriel leaned against the far end, kicking his shoes off to land on the carpet, and tossing both of his legs up on the cushions. He reached his arms up, folding them behind his head and grinned at their mother. “You are _impossible_!”

“Oh, relax Mother! It’s Sunday!” Gabriel replied, grinning wider and wiggling his toes for emphasis. “Couches are made for sitting and relaxing. You should try it some time.”

“Gabriel,” Castiel warned softly, earning him a glare from their mother.

“I do not need you to fight my battles for me, Castiel,” she snapped, and Castiel nodded quickly, biting back the apology on his tongue. “Gabriel, I’ve told you this many times: this is your father and my house, which means things run by our rules. You will treat the furniture with respect and maintain it as if it were your own purchase! Bottoms belong on couches, not feet!”

Gabriel rolled his eyes, Castiel noticing the corner of Naomi’s eye twitch, before he threw his legs to the side and pulled himself into a sitting position. Naomi nodded once, then waved her arm to Castiel, telling him to be seated, too.

He felt out of place as he sank next to his brother, Gabriel fully dressed in jeans and a polo shirt, and he picked at the bottom of the sweatshirt as he waited. Their mother walked around the coffee table, perching herself on the very edge of the reclining chair, before nodding.

“Alright, Gabriel,” she said, giving them both a small smile, “you seem very excited this morning. Your brother and I would love to hear your news.”

No, Castiel did _not_ want to hear Gabriel’s news. Beside him, Gabriel straightened up, his predatory smile matching their mother's, and he knew whatever was going to come out of his older brother’s mouth was sure to start world war three in the house.

“I should – ” he started, trailing off helplessly as both Gabriel and his mother turned to look at him. He was only slightly grateful that Gabriel was the one to speak first.

“Oh no, Cassie. You are going to want to stay and hear my news!”

“We are waiting with bated breath, Gabriel,” Naomi said, her attention focused back on Gabriel, hopefully enough that she missed how Castiel sank back into the cushions.

“I know that Thanksgiving is still four weeks away, but I have extended and invitation and it has been accepted!” Gabriel glanced over at Castiel. “I am ecstatic to be able to introduce my significant other to the family! Although it is somewhat short notice, I couldn’t bear the thought of us not being together on the holiday and I thought that extending the invitation myself would please you and father.”

Gabriel was talking too formal, too Lucas-like… it made Castiel’s teeth hurt. There was something he wasn’t saying, something _missing_ , but for the life of him, Castiel couldn’t read between the lines.

“Oh, Gabriel!” Naomi cooed, her smile genuine as she leaned forward to grab Gabriel’s hand. “We can accommodate a guest no problem. I am very excited to meet this lucky lady. Your father and I weren’t even aware you were seeing anyone!”

“It’s been a few months, but we wanted to keep things low key until we knew what we truly wanted.” Gabriel smiled back, shifting to hit Castiel’s knee with his own, and Castiel _knew_. “He is just as excited to meet all of you.”

The room was so silent, Castiel was sure his mother had stopped breathing. He didn’t dare look at her, his eyes wide as they locked on the side of Gabriel’s head. His brother appeared calm, his smile still wide and plastered across his face, his eyes shining in the midmorning sun that poured in through the window.

Their mother was going to flip out. She was going to actually follow through on the various threats she’d made over the years and remove Gabriel from the house. Castiel would never see his brother ever again, and here Gabriel just sat… calm and so… so… _stupid!_ How could he possibly think that this would go well? What on earth had he been thinking? Where was this supposed to –

“Well,” Naomi’s voice was clipped and cool as she sat back, folding her hands in her lap, ice blue eyes locked on Gabriel, “a few months is hardly what I would call a relationship. However, if an invitation has been extended and accepted, we will graciously host your _friend_ for the evening.”

“I am sure you all will love him.”

“Naturally.” Naomi nodded, then turned her attention to Castiel. “You, of course, should extend your own invitation. It’s about time we meet this girlfriend of yours.”

Castiel opened his mouth to argue – he couldn’t invite Charlie, not _now_ , not with Gabriel pulling whatever stunt it was he was pulling! – but Naomi pressed her hands on either side of the chair and pushed up, smoothing her suit jacket as she stepped forward. “I have some business to attend to this morning. I will see you both at dinner.”

They watched as she left the room, the clicking of her heels moving down the hallway until they disappeared behind the snap of the door to the office. Castiel let out his breath while Gabriel let out a loud _whoop!_

Castiel turned and punched him hard in the shoulder. “What the hell are you doing?” he demanded, anger rushing through him as Gabriel simply laughed in response, his hand coming up to rub at his shoulder. “Are you crazy?”

“Cassie, seriously, I thought she was going to shit her pants. Like, right there on the cashmere!” Gabriel laughed harder, bumping Castiel’s shoulder with his own. “I mean, pissed off about feet. Can you imagine if she’d actually –”

“Mother is right, Gabriel! You are impossible!” Castiel hissed, jerking up to his feet. Gabriel’s laughter stopped immediately and his fingers were tight as they whipped out and wrapped around Castiel’s wrist.

“Don’t you dare say that, Castiel.” Gabriel was glaring at Castiel’s back, he didn’t need to turn to see his brother’s expression. “Naomi knows shit, you and I both know that. And for the record? I’m doing this for you!”

Castiel spluttered, ripping his arm away to turn and look down at his brother in shock. “How on Earth does this have anything to do with me?”

Gabriel rolled his eyes. “Unless you plan on doing some weird bearding shit and convincing Charlie to marry you, sneaking the actual love of her life in whatever home you have, to live in a twisted façade of happiness? We better start buttering those two up now. They’re going to have to be brought into this century at some point, I might as well be the one to bring them there kicking and screaming.”

Castiel stared. The gesture was genuine, he had to give his brother that much. But it was never going to work! The convoluted plan of Gabriel’s was screwed from the get-go. He opened his mouth, but what was there to say? Thank you didn’t seem either appropriate or adequate. You’re an idiot was both cruel and an understatement.

Instead, Castiel collapsed back onto the couch, leaning most of his weight against his brother’s side and accepting the arm Gabriel slung around his shoulder.

“This is going to be a disaster.”

 

 

 

__________________________________________________

 

 

Dean blew out a slow breath, raising his hand to press in the buzzer. There was a pause, then a loud ringing to let him into the building.

He made his way up the stairs, the route to Pamela’s front door now something he could find with his eyes closed. But today, every step felt like another weight was being added to his shoulders. The simple black backpack he wore on his back felt like a million pounds, heavy and sucking out every ounce of energy he had.

By the time he reached Pamela’s apartment, all he wanted to do was run.

Pam, however, seemed to always know what Dean was thinking in the deepest, darkest corners of his mind, and was there before he could even make a choice, whipping open the door.

“Don’t even think about it, Winchester. We’re doing this.”

Dean looked up, meeting her bright green eyes. At least one of them was determined and excited. Dean found himself closing his own, steeling himself for a moment, before allowing her to tug him through the doorway. He didn’t know if the lock sliding in to place was a blessing or a curse.

“Did you talk to Jo?” Pam asked, her hands coming up to grip the strap over his left shoulder. She gave a slight tug, but didn’t force, letting Dean know he could refuse.

He didn’t.

He shrugged, letting the backpack fall from his back and into Pamela’s control. He only wished it made him feel better.

“A little, yeah,” he admitted, following her through the apartment into the kitchen. He pulled out one of the kitchen chairs and sank into it, watching as Pam dropped the back off in the seat she would be occupying and set about making up a fresh pot of coffee. It was comfortable, watching her padding around in her silk pajama shorts and a tank top, her hair piled messily up on her head; her home had become a second one to him over the last month, and she was just as comfortable with him there as if he was meant to be there.

"And?" she pressed, taking a large spoon from the cutlery drawer to scoop a generous helping of sugar into her cup. Dean waited, watching as she stirred and picked up both mugs, until she took her spot beside him. He picked up his mug and nodded his thanks, taking a deep sip despite the heat burning at the back of his throat.

"Come on Winchester, I even put on a bra for you this morning."

He snorted, spitting his coffee right back out into the mug. "Well shit, Pam!" he laughed, looking at her with wide eyes. "I'm not even sure I put on deodorant! I rolled out of bed and made my way right over here."

"I'm sure I've smelled worse," Pam replied with an eyeroll, smirking as she picked up her coffee. "Now, I want to know what Jo said! I've been dying all week!"

Dean shrugged, thumb tracing the handle of the mug, his remaining fingers soaking in the heat through the ceramic. "She was open to the suggestion. She said that she didn't mean to imply my songs were crap or whatever when I showed her the first time... She said that she was just... freaked out."

Pamela nodded, crossing her legs underneath the table. "See, what did I tell you? That girl loves and supports you, and she'd be blind not to see you've been going through some shit, right? Her first instinct when she interpreted your songs was panic because she thought you were in danger. To her, shoving that away was the best solution." Pamela snorted, causing Dean to look up at her. "You and your friend sure as hell got that in common. Put it in a box and you can pretend it doesn't exist."

"Usually works," Dean replied, glaring at her though it lacked any heat.

"Right, course it does. Until it literally explodes right back in your face and the monster you shoved in that teeny tiny box has quadrupled in size."

"I'm sure that's a bit of an exaggeration..." Dean muttered, tearing his eyes away and staring into the dark coffee before him. He didn't need to see Pamela's face to know what she was thinking. "Whatever."

Pam chuckled and then reached for the backpack, pulling out one of Dean's notebooks. He eyed it from the side, his stomach flipping nervously, as he tried to act unfazed. He hadn't pulled them out since that day with Jo... and despite Pamela's words, her reassurances that she understood and was _dying_ to get a first look at his lyrics, Dean was terrified for her reaction.

She flipped through the pages, humming softly every once in a while, her head nodding along. Sometimes she smiled, sometimes she leaned closer, squinting at the page, and it took everything Dean had not to reach forward and rip the pages away.

Then, she sat back, pushing the notebook towards him.

"I want to hear you sing this one."

Dean stared down at the page, his flipping stomach now completely ignored by the thudding of his heart. Of all the goddamn songs she could pick... He glanced up, Pamela looking back at him expectantly.

"I'm not much of an... acapella guy," he tried, shrinking back as she beamed at him.

"Well shit, I got a guitar!" She pushed away from the table, picking up the notebook and her coffee, and striding from the room. Dean hesitated, then sighed, downing the rest of his cup before following after her. He knew if he truly didn't want to, Pam wouldn't push him. But he'd been promising her for weeks now that he would sing something for her. When he confessed his dilemma with trying to write new songs with Jo, the songs he'd written too 'dark', Pam had immediately wanted to see them.

And the songs buried in those notebooks... despite the darkness that they'd been born from, Dean was damn proud of each of them. A couple needed work, a few should never see the light of day, but he felt that Jo had overlooked quality choices. Dean was who he was, before Cas and after, and each one of those lyrics brought together the life Dean had lived over the last two years.

When he joined Pamela in her bedroom, she had a well-loved, steel-string acoustic sitting across her lap.

"You good?" she asked, patting the bed beside her.

Dean picked up the notebook, glancing down at the words, though he knew them all by heart. He cleared his throat and accepted the guitar from her.

 _I'm cornered, in fire, so break out the secrets_  
_I hope you know, that you were worth it all along._  
_I'm tired, you're angry, and everyone looks blurry..._  
_I love you, I'm leaving, so long_

His fingers flew across the strings, a simple chord, and he closed his eyes.   
  
_Hey little one_  
_I'm so scared of what this could have been_  
_I know... that today I lost my only friend,_  
_my little one_

 He should've told him, he should've made it clear. But Dean, himself, hadn't fucking known until it was way too damn late...

 _The places I took you, they seem so fucking empty_  
_I have trouble going anywhere at all_  
_Especially my own bedroom_  
_And it stays awake to haunt me_  
_So passed out, black out, drunk in another bathroom stall  
_

Every restaurant. Every café. Every park, shopping center, back alley bar and stage... The shower, the kitchen, their bed...

 _Hey, little one_  
_I'm so scared of what this could have been_  
_I know that today I lost my only friend_

 _How long must I justify my pain through these songs?_  
_How long, how long?_

 _Hey, little one_  
_I'm so scared of what this could have been_  
_I know that today I lost my only little one_  
_(My little one)_  
_I'm so scared of what this could have been_  
_I know that today I lost my only friend_

Dean's chest felt tight, his voice thick, and he closed his eyes tightly. Castiel was more than just his friend, more than just his boyfriend.

 _How long must I talk about my pain in these songs?_  
_How long?_

 _It's raining, it's sunny_  
_It doesn't make a difference_  
_I don't care about anything at all_

Dean thrummed out the last chord, letting the guitar fall to his lap, and took in a shaky breath. He swallowed hard, feeling Pamela move closer to his side, her hands gentle as they took the instrument from him and slid it to the floor. She wrapped her arms around his shoulders then, tipping them backwards onto the mattress. Dean took in another breath and finished;

 _It's raining, it's sunny_  
_It doesn't make a difference_  
_I don't care about anything at all_


	5. Sometimes You Get So Angry, I Take it Personal

Dean closed his eyes, sitting his head back against the cabinet. The scrubs he wore were thankfully comfortable, same as the Cowboy boots he'd managed to get at Goodwill when the ones he ordered hadn't arrived in time. They were much better than the red spandex bodysuit Jo was wearing -- Britney Spears, really? -- and the oversized astronaut suit Benny had on to match her. Jo had been singing _Oops, I did it again_ all morning to the point Dean was actually glad their guest arrived so he could stop being serenaded by the 90s Queen of Pop.

The feeling had been short lived, however, when Dean was expected to help play host. They’d greeted everyone into their apartment, pointing out the important locations of bathrooms and booze. He’d small talked and smiled so much his jaw was hurting and answered, “I’m Doctor Sexy, couldn’t you tell?” more times than he could count. He’d flicked Pamela off more than once when she laughed and reminded him he could’ve worn a hospital badge to explain his costume.

A few hours into the party, everyone was buzzed -- or honestly, drunk -- enough that they were able to entertain themselves. They’d broken off into small groups, passed out, or were dancing in the center of the living room Jo had cleared to be the dance floor, all to beats of their own making.

Dean was blessedly released from his duties and was able to sneak into kitchen. He’d hopped up onto the countertop beside the coffee maker, only having to open his eyes and direct the random straggler to the bathroom or for more solo cups.

He couldn’t remember last Halloween… He and Benny had been on a bender that entire week. He had flashes of pumpkins, horror movies, costumes, and booze, but he wasn’t sure how much of that had happened or how much his brain had just supplied him. That week had been the first of many times that Crowley had threatened them, demanding they get their acts together and stop acting like children.

Dean half wished Crowley had gotten Sam to get out to LA then, the other part of him still wished Crowley had never called his brother at all.

Without Sam’s interference, Dean wasn’t even sure if he’d still be here, if he’d be able to pout in his own kitchen, irritated by the noise and people and stress that came with throwing a Halloween party. He never would’ve met Pamela, Benny and Jo never would’ve worked out their issues, and both of those things made his stomach flip and his heart twinge in his chest. He was grateful for that, at least. But the rest?

He used to be that brother, talking in circles around Sammy about how drugs were bad, alcohol was bad. He was never going to be that rockstar, because even at fourteen, he was damn determined to make it big. Sam had always stared back at him, wide eyed and nodding.

_“Of course, Dean! I would never do that. I won’t let you down.”_

When Sam had dragged him from an alleyway, Ash tugging Benny up from the ground opposite them, he’d never seen such disappointment in his brother’s eyes. Sam hadn’t talked to him at all, not a single word except, “Shut the fuck up, Dean and get in the car.”

That had been March and Sam kept his silence until June when Benny was cleared for discharge and left, with his weight gain and bright eyes, his goddamn fucking smile that never seemed to falter. Something else in Dean broke then… he was truly alone. His therapist had coaxed him into reaching out to Sam then, starting family healing, and Dean just wanted to stop being _alone_.

He glanced through the doorway into the living room, eyes seeking out Benny. They’d had a ‘family’ meeting, the entire band sitting down to discuss what hosting a party would mean. Jo had even gone as far as putting an explicit ‘No Drugs Allowed’ in silver sharpie at the bottom of the invitations, but they weren’t stupid enough to believe that would curb every person they’d invited.

Pamela was Dean’s ‘rock’, as Jo called it. She would be Benny’s. And right now, she had herself planted on her boyfriend’s lap, distracting him despite the girl on the other end of the couch vaping something that most definitely wasn’t nicotine.

Dean didn’t need to look to know Pamela was nearby, giving him the space he didn’t need to ask for. He had scoffed at their ‘meeting’, defensive and angry even when he crawled into bed that night. He didn’t need a babysitter, he was a fucking adult! But, he had to admit, Pamela’s steady presence wasn’t the least bit constrictive: he felt secure, supported.

The last time he’d felt that way… well, it had been months before Cas walked out the door.

Castiel always has his back, a steady presence at his side. Even when Cas has his own opinions, or when he disagreed with one of Dean’s choices, he still supported him. Between Dean grabbing a fourth slice of pie despite the two hours they’d spent at the gym that morning or what song from their first album should’ve been their first single. Cas _talked_ to him, _explained_ his feelings and thoughts and aspirations.

Dean was the one who dropped the ball on that front.

 

_“You are so… frustrating!” Cas hissed, slipping the tie from his throat and throwing it towards the hamper. It missed the basket by several feet, and Cas growled as he stormed over and ripped it from the ground._

_“Oh, I’m frustrating? Please, Cas, tell me how you really feel.” Dean slipped his suit jacket from his shoulders and pulled his vintage AC/DC shirt over his head. He jumped back when he opened his eyes to see Cas inches from his face._

_“How I really feel? How I really fucking feel? Are you kidding me, Dean!” Castiel’s voice increased with every word until he was yelling, his hands pushing Dean’s chest and his eyes shining with tears._

_“Cas…” Dean started, not sure if he was worried about their friends hearing or about Cas actually crying._

_“No! You don’t get to do that!” Castiel hissed, ripping the shirt from Dean’s hands and throwing it back in the direction of the hamper. “You don’t get to antagonize and placate me with empty fucking words! I told you how I felt, Dean. I think I was really clear, don’t you? I’m pretty sure-”_

_“Cas, please don’t.”_

_“- that ‘I love you’ is clear as goddamn crystal! That dropping my life, moving across the country to be with you, is as clear as it gets! Do you need me to explain it more?”_

_“Seriously, Cas, we’ve had some to drink and-”_

_“Do you want me to tell you about how I foolishly thought of a future with you? Of waking up beside you, be it on the road or hotel rooms or a goddamn house, every single morning? Should I tell you about how I imagined you being a great father, about the ring I fantasize on my finger? Of cheering for you and advocating for you, pushing you to achieve every goddamn one of your dreams because I believe in every single inch of you?”_

_Dean swallowed hard, his heart beating wildly in his chest, his fingers itching to wipe away the tears on Castiel’s cheeks. But he was frozen, staring and watching an array of emotions play out over Cas’ face. The most painful was when there was no emotions at all._

_“But no, Dean. You don’t want to know how I really feel. In fact, you want nothing less. You want someone in your bed, to hold or fuck or shoot the shit with. You want some poor schmuck to bring you coffee in the mornings, make sure you eat, wash your back in the shower like some glorified personal assistant. You want a lot Dean, the fans and fame and lights and glory. You deserve it, too.”_

_Castiel reached up, wiping the tears from his own face and spinning on his heel to their bed. He yanked a pillow from it and the comforter, thrusting them into Dean’s arms._

_“But you don’t want me, Dean. I can’t be your lapdog anymore. And most important? I deserve better.”_

_Cas’ fingers were gentle as they brushed his cheek, a stark contrast to their conversation, and only the confusion allowed Dean to be spun around and pushed out of the room. The door locking behind him made him flinch._

_He stood in the hallway in his dress pants and dress shoes, bedding falling out of his arms, until Benny appeared to take it from him._

_“You can fix it tomorrow, brother. Give him time.”_

 

Dean blinked the tears from his eyes and jumped when he felt someone jump onto the counter beside him. He turned his head to Pamela and wordlessly placed his hand in her upturned one.

“I should’ve told him,” he whispered, closing his eyes as he felt her squeeze his fingers. “I wanted that all too, you know?”

“You didn’t, Dean,” Pamela argued, shaking her head. She leaned against his shoulder, the overly hair sprayed updo of Frankenstein’s bride scratching his cheek. “Not really. Maybe somewhere in you, but you weren’t ready to think of the future, and that’s okay.”

“Maybe,” Dean replied, swallowing hard. “Maybe I didn’t know what I wanted next week, or about kids or any of that shit. But I did know… I knew the first time he told me. I just… couldn’t say it back. Instead, I made him _hate_ me.”

“No, sugar,” Pamela was quick to grab Dean’s hands, jerking them to her chest and making him open his eyes to meet hers, “that boy doesn’t hate you.”

“You don’t even know him,” Dean whispered back, his voice cracking. He wanted to believe Pamela so bad… but he’d given Cas every reason and then some to loathe his very existence.

“I do, Dean. I know him from the stories you tell and the songs you sing. God, I think I would recognize that boy if he walked in here right now, and you’ve never even shown me a picture! Castiel was angry because he was hurt, Dean. And while that may mask the feelings of love, it doesn’t take them away.”

Dean nodded slowly. How well he knew that, though instead of anger he drowned the pain with whiskey and heroin. He knew first hand how easy it was to mask the loss and love he felt for Cas, and how quickly and powerfully they returned when he’d let them.

“It’s easier not to feel anything,” Dean said slowly, refusing to meet her eyes.

“Easier? Perhaps,” Pam agreed, falling silent for a moment. Dean sneaked a glance at the side, seeing she looked peaceful, her head leaning back against the cabinets as his had been and her eyes closed. “Easier, is very true. But at what end? It makes it more painful in the long run to shut everything and everyone out. It doesn’t solve the problem, doesn’t get rid of the hurt. It allows it to ferment, though, not like a fine wine.”

“More like a moldy cheese.” Pamela snorted and elbowed him, her eyes shining as she laughed.

“Well, there you go, Winchester! Not really the love analogy I was going for, but yeah, like a really, stinky, old moldy cheese.”

“You guys are fucking weird.”

Dean looked up to see Ash standing on the other side of the island, the oversized green shirt he wore for his Shaggy Roger’s costume damp from what Dean hoped was beer. Beside him, Pamela started giggling, nearly falling off the counter before Dean wrapped an arm around her waist and pulled her against his side.

“Come on,” he said, finding himself laughing, too. “I have a picture of Cas in my room, if you want to see?”

Pamela chuckled a few more times, then nodded, squeezing Dean’s arm. “I would really like that.”

 

 

_____________________________________________________

 

 

 

Castiel was anything but excited, though he hoped he’d successfully hidden the fact from Charlie. From across his bedroom, Gabriel was spinning slowly in the computer chair, a single eyebrow raised, and he knew that he didn’t have his brother fooled. Lucas was lounging across Castiel’s floor, his legs in the air and resting on the end of the bed where Charlie was sitting, leaning against his calves.

He had no idea what possessed his brothers to be in here with them, but the moment Charlie had blurted out she had come over so they could listen to the contest winners for Devium in Boston, Lucas had taken off like a shot to find Gabriel.

Castiel would be more concerned with the reason why if he wasn’t too busy staring at Charlie’s phone beside him, the radio playing the never-ending-crappiest-rap-song-ever.

Charlie was convinced they were going to win and Castiel didn’t have the heart to tell her that he’d gone to bed every night hoping and praying that they wouldn’t. As it was, Charlie had a new tidbit of information about the band she’d learned from different gossip mags that she liked to share with him every time they got together. He didn’t have the heart to tell her that most of the ‘gossip’ being reported was untrue, either. He knew these people, better than he knew Charlie, even.

Instead, he bit on the end of his tongue and tried to smile and only managed to make himself the world’s shittiest best friend. He was lying to her, every time he agreed he was excited, too, every time he nodded and said that whatever fact she’d found was awesome.

It had shocked him when out of his two brothers, Lucas had been the one to approach him.

_“So… are you going to tell Charlie about the Dean and the band?”_

Castiel had stared, probably like a deer in the headlights, back at Lucas before he tried to act confused.

“We were there in Chicago, too, Castiel. We knew that Dean Winchester from Devium was your Dean from the moment they came on the scene. You don’t have to talk to me, or Gabriel, Mom or Dad. But… why haven’t you told Charlie?”

And wasn’t that the million-dollar question. He glanced over at his best friend, her arm draped comfortably over Lucas as she supported herself, her free hand lifted up and covering her mouth as she stared at the phone by Castiel’s hand. She was _vibrating_ with energy, the excitement she was feeling almost palpable through the intense fear Castiel himself was feeling. She looked like she belonged there, like she was part of the family, too.

It made him feel even more guilty and he had to turn his attention away again. Unfortunately, his options were the phone playing the radio station or Gabriel who was dying to get him to look up at him. Castiel focused on the phone.

_“Coming at the top of the hour, we will be announcing our winners for Devium at the House of Blues! This is one of the bands first official tour, and one of their biggest shows! You do not want to miss this!”_

Charlie reached over and grabbed his hand, giving a small squeal. He couldn’t even smile back.

Castiel wasn’t even sure she’d listened to Devium before Dean had mailed him their first album, other than hearing a few songs on the radio, so he _knew_ Charlie was putting in so much of an effort for him. She thought the place of ‘protection’ of the CD on the bookcase, the silent pondering whenever one of the tracks came on the radio, was Castiel caring for this band he loved so much. Really, it was Castiel’s desperation for out of sight, out of mind, his unwillingness to open the CD until Gabe fixed that, and his desperation to hear Dean’s voice, despite how much it hurt.

The thought of actually being in a concert hall of any sort, breathing the same fucking air as Dean? God, it only made him nauseous. What if they ran into one another? Despite being more well known now, he couldn’t imagine that Jo, Dean, Benny, or Ash would have changed all that much – and they loved seeing the cities and areas they played in.

He could almost picture Charlie and him walking down the streets, finding the T in Boston, and having Dean step out with the pretty girl he’d been pictured with lately. Oh, yeah, Charlie had positive gushed about how pretty the brunette pictured with him in the latest Teen Beat magazine was. Castiel had gone home and thrown up.

 _Stop thinking about it!_ But he couldn’t. Every time he closed his eyes he saw the woman sitting beside Dean, her head on his shoulder, her arm linked with his. It had been the only time he was engaged when Charlie poured through the band’s social media accounts, trying to find out the woman’s name and how long they’d been dating.

They’d only gotten one thing. Her name was Pamela.

People had commented on various Instagram posts, tweeted Dean and the rest of the band, asking for the real details about their relationship. But nothing had been forthcoming. Dean was always determined to keep as much of his private life private, so it wasn’t surprising that they didn’t address the fans. Castiel had never been pictured with the band, outside of their own photographs, so for this Pamela to be out and about with them in the public eye?

Castiel didn’t need conformation.

_“And here’s the moment you’ve been anxiously waiting for!! We have Johnny here to help us set the scene!”_

A dramatic drumroll came across the phone and Charlie shot up straight, slapping her hand down on Lucas’ leg. He swore and swung his legs down, rubbing his left leg as he reached up for Charlie to help pull him up. Now, three of them were sitting on Castiel’s bed, and Gabriel had rolled his chair over, his eyes staring holes into the phone just like Castiel’s were.

“We got this, we got this, we got this!” Charlie whispered and Castiel shut his eyes.

_“Our lucky winner of two Devium tickets goes to…”_

“Charlie Bradbury, Charlie Bradbur-”

_“Jillian Gauthier of Woburn, Massachusetts! Congratulations, Jillian!”_

Castiel stared, shocked. The chances of them actually winning had always been slim to none, but Charlie had been so convinced! She’d made plans, looked into a hotel for the night, and –

“Fuck!” Charlie swore, punching the home button of her phone and silencing the winner’s call. She stared at it for a few minutes before looking up at Cas, her eyes swimming with tears. “I’m so sorry, Cas! I wanted to go to Boston to see them so badly!”

“I know,” Castiel answered, reaching forward to pull her into a hug. “It’s okay, Charlie. Really. We can find some other concerts to go to this summer, okay?”

“I know, but…” Charlie shook her head against his shoulder, hugging him back tightly. “I just really wanted to go.”

Castiel met Gabriel’s eyes over Charlie’s shoulders, his brother giving a small, half shrug. Then, as if knowing what Castiel was going to say, slowly shook his head. “Me too,” was on the tip of Cas’ tongue, another lie to give his best friend, and he swallowed it down at Gabriel’s look.

“Mom’s going to be home soon,” Castiel said softly, rubbing Charlie’s back a few more times before she sat back up. “Unless you want to do the girlfriend thing before Thanksgiving, we should probably head out.”

Charlie nodded, running a hand back through her hair to get it away from her eyes.

“Are you sure you guys don’t want to come?” she asked, turning to look at Gabriel and then Lucas. “All of you are welcome, there’s going to be plenty of room. There’s six bags of candy, we’re watching horror movies, eating way too much damn popcorn, and I think Meg is planning on bringing a few pumpkins for us to carve.”

“You had me at candy,” Gabriel said with a smirk, standing up and shoving the computer chair back into its place.

“I’m good, I’m going out with Lilith tonight,” Lucas declined, giving Charlie’s arm a squeeze sliding off the bed. “She wants to go to some dance club costume thing. She convinced me to dress up as the devil.”

Gabriel snorted and moved to the door, holding it open for Lucas to slip out. “I’ll get my stuff and I’ll meet you guys downstairs,” he said, walking away when Cas nodded. Silence fell in the room as his brother’s departed until Charlie let out a long, frustrated sigh.

“Seriously, Char, it’s okay. We will find another concert, okay?”

“I know, I know. Just… Boston is so close! It would’ve been so much easier to win tickets there. I suppose Portland or Chicago won’t be _awful_ but…”

“Wait,” Castiel interrupted, turning to the side to meet her eyes, “what do you mean Portland and Chicago?”

“They’re doing a whole East Coast tour, Cas! I tried to find every damn contest I could that was giving away tickets to places that were manageable for us to go.” Castiel stared as Charlie beamed back at him. “Isn’t that exciting? We still have a chance!”

Castiel swallowed hard and slipped off the bed, moving to the closet for his backpack. “Come on, we’re going to be late to our own party.” He got his things ready in silence, Charlie hopping back and forth between the other concert venues they could win tickets at and excitement for the party.

At the door, Gabriel had the same one raised eyebrow look. As he held the door open, Charlie nearly racing for her car, Castiel heard him say, “You just need to tell her, baby bro.”

He would, Castiel made a promise to himself. He would tell her. Just… not today.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have to skip posting next week, just FYI. They swapped my schedule around a lot at work and we're doing mandatory inservices that are taking up most of my week. I don't want to feel pressured to try and get it all done, so I'm just going to skip posting on 2/19 and post on the following Tuesday :) Thank you guys for understanding and thank you all for being so awesome <3

**Author's Note:**

> Feedback fuels the fire ♥ Thank you all for being here!


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